


Pitch Black, Pale Blue: A Variation of the Truth

by cinematicara



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Death, Character Death, Death, Dream Smp, Gen, Hurt, L'Manberg festival, awww ranboo's first real canon death, didn't know how to tag this, it's 2am and i speedran this cut me some slack, l'manberg, l'manburg, ranboo centric, they grow up so fast, this is lowkey scuffed, water is just really bad news for endermen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinematicara/pseuds/cinematicara
Summary: (title from Neptune by Sleeping At Last)I'm only honest when it rainsAn open book, with a torn out pageAnd my inks run out———Ranboo realizes the consequences that follow not actively choosing a side and spending time with wanted criminals are much more dire than he had originally anticipated :)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 185





	Pitch Black, Pale Blue: A Variation of the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> hey gang this is really short for me but it's fine, i just felt like speedrunning something small as a little break while i frantically scramble to finish another much larger fic that i've been working on. so yeah here [drops in lap] have some late night very speedy ranboo angst
> 
> also i really know how to tag but if you're like... squeamish at the mention of blood and like idk brief mentions of people's skin being the equivalent of acid burned off their bones maybe sit this one out u get me

Turns out the only things you needed around here to be forced into dying a slow and painful death were easily shifting loyalties and a nice dose of mortality. Ranboo had made the mistake of showing up to the festival with both on hand. 

He had never cared for L’Manberg and its vast interwoven web of alliances and enemies. It was ever-changing, and frankly far too complicated for anyone to stick with one party consistently, so Ranboo had opted early on to follow his instincts and side only with those who were willing to aid him. Maybe if he’d been more open to the idea of settling with just one side, or seeing things more in terms of ‘us versus them,’ or the concept of undying loyalty… maybe he wouldn’t have landed himself in this mess. And yet, here he was, his hands bound tightly behind his back as he stood still atop the stone pedestal in the center of the pool. The fading sunlight flickered off the surface of the water, casting a gentle glow onto the faces of the surrounding audience members. In other circumstances, the dancing of the light might’ve been beautiful to him, but right then it was nothing but horrifying, a grim reminder of the pain that soon awaited him.

He had received no trial—none had been needed. All the evidence Quackity and Tubbo had needed to convict him had been scrawled in his messy hand within his book of memories. Why, oh  _ why,  _ had he been so careless with his one possession that could ruin his life if it got into the wrong hands? He hadn’t even been bothered to write it in some form of code or shorthand. All his secrets and all his plans had been written in plain English for anyone to stumble across. And someone had. Someone had found the book the week before the festival and passed the information back to the New L’Manberg administration, and it had cost him. Dearly.

“Ranboo of L’Manberg,” Quackity’s voice cut through the troubled whispers of the crowd, deepened by the effect on the microphone. He held the stolen book of memories high above his head for the audience to see. “With the evidence given from the entries in this book—each written and signed by you—you have been found guilty of treason against the country of New L’Manberg, a charge which—as everyone here well knows—is punishable by death.” He opened to the middle of the book, thumbing through it until he found the page he was looking for. “You have made it clear that you do not claim loyalty to L’Manberg, and that you have been conspiring against us with targets from the Butcher Army hitlist: Technoblade and Dream.” He snapped the book shut. “I know you’re pretty new around here, but you’re about to learn that we don’t take these kinds of issues lightly. “Ranboo, you are hereby sentenced to death by drowning. We’ll see you in your next life. Hopefully, this will make you think twice before you decide to break the trust of your country. Fundy!”

The fox-eared man snapped to attention. 

“On my command, you pull that lever,” Quackity pointed towards a small lever beside the pool. “Ranboo, do you have anything else to say for yourself?”

Boy, did he have things to say. In his book, he had written of how the constantly shifting loyalties were ultimately what was driving the country apart, and he would stand by that notion until his final breath. Which now that he thought about it wasn’t all that far down the road. Ranboo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a single word, Quackity cut him off with a smirk.

“Nah, I’m kidding. You’re guilty either way. Fundy, pull the lever.”

Before Ranboo could protest, the pedestal dropped out from under him, sending him plummeting into the frigid water below. The cold alone would’ve been enough to send any normal person into shock, but Ranboo was half Enderman, meaning that the combination of Hydrogen and Oxygen molecules ate away at his skin, slowly and very painfully tearing him apart. He opened his mouth to scream but all that he could do was offer a muffled choke that rose to the surface of the water in a flurry of bubbles as he was dragged down to the bottom of the pool. His whole body felt as though it was on fire, the water burning and tearing and searing his skin. He thrashed as he settled to the floor, trying desperately to free himself of his restraints, but to no avail. The water began to turn cloudy with blood as the water continued to gorge itself on his Enderman flesh like a massive cloud of starving piranhas.

What kind of punishment was this for speaking his mind in private? For opting to spend his time with people who actively sought to aid and assist him? For warning Dream of the Butchers’ plot in order to spare the life of a man who had retired and sworn off violence? 

He looked down at his arms and gagged, taking in water as he did. The cloudy substance was still sizzling through his flesh like it was acid. Bits of bone had started to become visible.

No. This was in no way a fair punishment. The people of L’Manberg knew what he was, they had known what this would do to him. They had carried out public executions before, but none before him had ever involved drowning. This method had been specifically handpicked for him. 

As his vision began to dim and his mind began to drift away into a formless haze, he decided resolutely that when he came back he would no longer make any sort of attempt to even  _ pretend  _ to side with L’Manberg. While Techno and Philza had offered sanctuary and protection, L’Manberg had come off as nothing but threatening since the day Ranboo had arrived. They didn’t want him there, they never had. They had all but jumped at the first chance to be rid of him. 

The feeling of the chains around his wrists and ankles drifted away, as did the explosion of pain from all parts of his body. He felt… nothing. He had never died before, but he hadn’t expected the end to be so calm, so painless. He had never felt so at peace in all his life. The sensation was perplexing.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up in his bed in L’Manberg with the bitter aftertaste of death still lingering in his aching muscles. He flexed his fingers and raised his arms out in front of him. He was whole again, no blisters, no burns, no massive gaping sores. He put a hand to his cheek. In fact, his skin was as soft as a newborn baby’s. 

He dragged himself out of bed, crossing to a mirror on the opposite side of the room, and tugged the collar of the plain black shirt he had awoken in down to reveal the small tattooed depiction of his remaining lives on his collarbone. One of the delicate black hearts had been struck through with a jagged red line, signifying its loss. He sighed, letting the fabric spring back into shape. From this moment on, he’d have to play tougher than he ever had before. L’Manberg was out for blood, and it hardly seemed to care whose anymore. 

He began to pack his bags with one destination in mind: he was going back to Techno’s.

**Author's Note:**

> is this scuffed? kinda. am i scared for ranboo? very.  
> anyways, i hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are always very much appreciated :)
> 
> i have a vague idea for possibly continuing this into two chapters but i make no promises
> 
> also be sure to follow me on twitter @ PLGLLNS (displayed as PlGLlNS) if you haven't already!! i make bangers and i am slowly creeping my way up to 3k!!


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